Jezz’s Daily Story

When Arnold brought his tablet to work on the day of the Christmas party, people talked. They talked about how he’d been leaving later, with emails from his work computer sent after midnight. They talked about how he had lost weight, and the way that his navy trousers barely stayed up over his hips. They talked about his relationship, and how he’d taken down the picture of himself and his wife squinting and smiling atop Macchu Picchu. They laughed and all looked at him from their huddled group. Arnold finished the rice cracker he was eating and went back to his desk.
    The image on his computer screen, as always, was a leaf. It wasn’t a picture or a drawing, but a three dimensional model; he hunched himself over with his stylus pressed against the tablet to watch it, rotating it to see the light green underside and the veins which laced the surface. Towards its tip there was a blank space, where the dull grey of exposed model replaced the intricate floral texture. He brought this segment to the fore, zooming in and then out again, squinting and tilting his head.

- You know we ship the week after New Year’s. What are you doing? Here, just fill that and we’ll get it in before release. Relax. We’re done. Arnold?
    – Yeah. Sorry? Do you think the Botanic Gardens are open on public holidays? 
    – Huh?
    – The gardens. If the office is closed over Christmas, I might spend some time there.
    – I don’t think so, Arnold. Just get it done, or we’ll roll it back to the last revision.
    – But the last revision – the last revision was completely wrong, it would look absurd.
    – Arnold. It’s a leaf. Fill the damn model, email it to me and go home. If you’re really still concerned go to the gardens over Christmas and start thinking about the sequel. Alright?
    Arnold looked back at the screen.
    – How about I-, he said. I think I need to go for a walk.

The only birch tree in the area was between the carpark and the highway, a scrawny and bent specimen that looked like it might have been run over by a delivery truck and then propped carefully back up. Its white and naked branches spiked up at the grey sky like bones. Arnold kicked at the grass and flat dirt under it. There were a few old leaves, but all were imperfect – soggy, dead, they had been torn by footsteps and beaten by rain. He could only find one worth taking back. Shaped like a heart, he held it to the sun to examine the slight blush along its innermost cheek. He slipped it in his shirt pocket, looked again at the tall tree and then trudged back through the carpark with arms crossed high against his chest.

- You alright there, Arnold? I’m heading off. There’s some cake left in the fridge and, ah. I guess I’ll see you next year.
    – Oh, sorry Shelley. Yeah, I’ll see  you next year.
    – Have a good Christmas, okay? Arnold?
    He peered up over his cubicle. Shelley was standing by the doorway with a backpack slung over her shoulder.
    – Oh. Merry Christmas.
    – Will you remember to turn off the lights? I’m not sure when the cleaners will be in. Goodbye, Arnold.

At nine o’clock Arnold remembered the leaf in his pocket. He slipped it out carefully and placed it on the tablet. He traced around it idly with his finger, then lifted it again and held it against the light of the display. It was thin enough to see right through – its dessicated veins thrusting out from the central stem in parallel. He noticed something about the way the ragged edges merged at the tip; the way the lines angled inwards until they met in a single spike. When he went back to his stylus and tablet, he began to gently manipulate the nodes of the model and brush on new textures.

By five A.M. on Christmas eve, the leaf was finished. It glowed perfectly at the centre of a white canvas, angled slightly so the tip was at the fore. Arnold rubbed his eyes. In structure it was a replica of the one sitting on his tablet, but the digital version was alive. Once dead and wet, it had been summoned up behind the tiny pixels of the monitor and rejuvinated with green blood. The leaf would make it to release. It would be multiplied countless times on a forest of polygon branches, viewed from all angles and illuminated by the coloured light of a hundred different sources. And each time, it would be perfect.

He left his tablet and the leaf behind. He turned out the lights. On the way home, he stopped at the convenience store to get ham and eggs for Christmas breakfast.

As Arnold slept soundly in his silent apartment, and the bells of strange magic tinkled outside the windows of children around the city, the dead leaf on Arnold’s tablet rose up in the dark. His monitor buzzed as it clicked on and the white light it created washed the leaf and Arnold’s empty chair. The leaf began to spin and, in tandem, its on-screen copy spun, too. It lasted for a long time – unwatched at the end of an empty office hall. When the dance ended and the leaf finally fell back down to the tablet it was green and real, as alive as when it had first sprung from a curled bud. And looking over it from the screen, behind a wall of tiny pixels, was its brown, soggy replica, angled so its broken tip pointed to the fore.